


veil yourself

by eletriptan



Series: footsteps of black [1]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/F, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eletriptan/pseuds/eletriptan
Summary: To love and to have lost, Nyx wonders. Can you have lost a love if you never really had it in the first place? Persephone returns, and Nyx muses on her feelings.
Relationships: Nyx/Persephone (Hades Video Game)
Series: footsteps of black [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048741
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	veil yourself

**Author's Note:**

> hello. i'm sorry that my first fic must bring you angst, but please enjoy it nonetheless! 
> 
> much thanks to my betas, theaspiringcynic (on ao3), susabei (on ao3), jerriais (on tumblr), the__pleiades (on ao3), and AngryBread (on ao3).

The night’s embrace is soft and gentle. It creeps in slowly, wrapping everyone and everything in its shawl. Dark and foreboding as it may be, its touch is softer than down. Or, at least, that’s what Nyx has oft been told. Not by her parent, much as she wished Chaos would, but by those in her charge: her darling children, Zagreus, even once by Megaera, though not in so many words. She takes pride in it, but sometimes she wishes that perhaps one would do for her what is in her nature to do for others. 

Not that she would express that sentiment. The night does not idle and stew, after all. 

And besides, no one but Persephone (or the Iron Queen, or the Pale Queen, or Kore, as she was oft so fondly called as well) had ever come close to flattering her in such a way, for people fear her and her gaze, which promises pitch of such depths that no light could ever pierce. 

Well, perhaps the Iron Queen’s gaze could. For all that her many titles expressed harshness and death, ‘twas her eyes and only hers that could light up the night with life and vibrance, the way the rays of the sun pierce the sky at night’s end. Even the pits of Tartarus could not shield itself from it, nor would it ever want to - so starved for that sort of doting that it may well have forgotten what it felt like to be graced with it. 

Just like Nyx, herself, had; ‘till dearest Persephone came knocking gently on the doors of the House of Hades. 

Perhaps, she muses as she watches the shades pass her by, bowing as they do, that’s why she had found herself so taken with dearest Persephone. For the warmth of her embrace, and the kindness in her eyes. 

The night is always cold, always decaying, always close to death, and she craves the heat of the sun, and the soft touch of verdure. 

Once, shortly after Zagreus had found out the truth of his birth, he asked Nyx what Persephone was like. He had wanted - more craved, or rather needed by the desperate look in his eyes, really - to know the ways in which they were the same, if perhaps Nyx could explain for why he could never be and was never like his father. 

Nyx, in hearing the question, had wrapped her shawl around herself tightly as though it were a protective barrier, to shield herself and him from letting the truth of her feelings leak out. 

_“Oh, my child,”_ she had sighed. _“Your mother is verdure itself - she brings life to everything around her.”_ Nyx inclined her head in the direction of the garden. _”She was even able to coax flowers into bloom here, where no light reaches. Persephone was...Persephone is, light itself. Kind to all those around her, gentle with even the harshest of shades. She brought out even the most timid from where they hid, just so they could be blessed with her endearments. You are quite like her - maybe not in appearance, my child, but in your heart.”_ She reached out and placed a soft hand over Zagreus’ chest. 

In saying that, Nyx had given herself away. She knew she had, by the look in Zagreus’ uneven eyes, the look that spoke of new realizations. He always had been frighteningly emotionally perceptive - another way in which he was his mother’s son. But the night had grown tired of hiding itself, of being secretive. Perhaps she wished, for once, to reveal her depths to someone; to let someone look at her and simply _see._

Zagreus, sweet child that he was, had not commented on it. But she knew that he remembered, that he kept it close to his heart, unlike much else. It was in the inquisitive looks he shot her, like he had just realized that she was not just a mother, but a person, and then in the sad ones given once the Iron Queen returned to her throne. 

But he did speak through his actions, planting vases full of lilacs - like the ones Persephone loved and often wore in a crown upon her head - around Nyx’s spot in the House. Often, Nyx would cut a few and bring them back to her rooms, laying them to rest by her bedside. But the night is not known for bringing beginnings or life, only for bringing decay; and so the lilacs would soon shrivel in on themselves and die. 

And yet. And yet, Nyx could not refrain from cutting more, and bringing them to her rooms again. Perhaps, the night could not control herself as well as she thought. Perhaps the night was not as poised as she believed herself to be. Perhaps, the night could only consume. She could bring things into her fold, gently and softly at first, but they would all fade eventually. 

And perhaps it was for the best that Hades was the one Persphone had chosen in the end. But be that as it may, Nyx could only feel herself grow in sorrow, in jealousy, and in regret as she watched Persphone and Hades together in the great hall every day, so full of love and joy. She thought of how, when Persphone returned to the house, Nyx had sunk back into her corner of the House, had hidden her face in her shawl, and simply watched as the Pale Queen fell back into old habits like she had not disappeared for years. Offering a gentle hand to the shades of the House when Hades was a touch too harsh with them, walking through the gardens with fingers spread out and letting the flowers of the underworld just _bloom_ underneath her fingertips, pinching Hades’ nose and yanking him out of his work when he began to be buried under the weight of it all. Persephone brought life and levity wherever she went. And so, naturally, Nyx fell more deeply in love with her. How could she not? 

A shade was staring forlornly outside the gate to the inner gardens. It was reminiscent of many a late night Nyx had spent, gazing out and beyond, wondering what Persephone was doing at that moment in time. For Nyx had gifted her with her shroud, and thus had hidden her from the world - even from Nyx, herself. Never once had she regretted doing this (for she would cut her arms from her body were they of use to the Pale Queen) but she had often wondered what would happen if she were to show up at the door of the small cottage Persephone lived in. 

For a long time, Nyx had never known desire, because the night claims all things, in the end. The night has never been left wanting. She should have expected the eventuality where she was left wanting to come (as she thought back to when she was young, and had said she would never be, and Chaos had simply looked at her and given her one of their enigmatic smiles, the kind Nyx had learnt to give others when she did not yet want to tell them how wrong-footed they were) but she had long since learned that no one can be eternally wise. 

She clenched her hands tightly, and then unclenched, palms open and face up. Nyx idly traced the lines of one palm with the fingers of the other. Once, long since Persephone had left, Apollo and Artemis as newly-born deities had come to visit the chthonic gods and the House of Hades. They had insisted it was their duty to know all their brethren, regardless of how often they would see them. (Nyx would shroud Zagreus in her shawl, lest their awareness of his existence lead to unsavory interactions far sooner than the boy was ready for.) Apollo, young playboy that he was, spent most of his time tailing Nyx around the House, much to the chagrin of Hades, who would have rather she be left alone to attend to her duties. Nyx, however, did not mind. The young man was charming, for all his failed attempts at getting her to lie with him. 

At one point, he regaled her with tales of his skills as an oracular god, and how simply by the look of her palms he could tell her all that she needed to know about her life, including whom she loved so dearly. An eyebrow rose in disbelief, she had gently proffered her hands to him, urging that he examine them and tell her all he could, but assuming he was mostly bluster (as most of the male gods, olympian or chthonic, were). 

Apollo softly took her right hand by the wrist, and traced the lines of her palm with one finger. His brows had furrowed, and he had frowned deeply, a face of bright light marred by darkness ( as all things are, eventually). 

_”I’m sorry,”_ he had said, as gently as a man could. _”To love so deeply, and not have it returned...I cannot fathom the depths of your pain.”_

_”My pain?”_ she had laughed harshly. _”What do you know of pain, godling?”_ Her voice had almost broken in that moment, but she kept her poise, and brought herself to her full height. 

_”I know enough,”_ he had said, eyes taking on a far-off look. _”Maybe not of the kind you do, but enough so that I know cracks run through both our hearts. And for that, I am sorry.”_

Nyx sighed deeply. The sigh came from her chest, and would rattle her bones were she made of more brittle material. In this instance, she could take off her shawl. Reveal her pain, to someone who might understand, even if only for the smallest of moments. She reached forward and cupped Apollo’s face in her hand, thumbing the golden ringlets away from his forehead. 

_“I wonder… I wonder, have you heard the tale, my child, of Eos? How she runs across the sky each morning, streaking it with her finger-tips of rose, before you or Helios wake to do your duty? Once, when we were younger, we fancied each other, you know.”_ Nyx had felt herself get that distant look in her eyes she sometimes does, the one that Thanatos has grown accustomed to, the one that Zagreus and Hypnos still ply with questions. 

Apollo had tilted his head into the palm of her hand. _“Did you?”_ His face was cherubic still, not yet having taken on the hard lines of a man. His ringlets still bounced as he talked. It reminded her of Eos, actually. 

Nyx had offered him a wry smile. _“We did. But it was not meant to be. Chthonic gods and Olympian ones were never set to mix, they say.”_

_“Is that what you believe?”_ The question was a piercing one. She had dropped her hand from his head and turned her face toward the gardens. 

_“She used to watch me dance, you know,”_ Nyx murmured. _“Eos runs across the fields to bring the dawn, but I would dance across the skies with footsteps of black. She would watch and clap and love every minute of it. I used to dance only for myself but now...now I dance for her.”_

_“For Eos?”_

_“No.”_ Nyx had inclined her head to note the end of the conversation. Apollo looked like he had wished to ask more questions, but in a moment of maturity, withdrew instead. 

_“Thank you for trusting me, Nyx. Shall I tell Ares your heart is elsewhere, then?”_ He half-smiled, clearly attempting to lighten the mood. 

Nyx had let out a breathy laugh. _“No, let him, if he so wishes. One does not get much in the way of entertainment, down here.”_

Back in the present, Nyx clenched and unclenched her hands again. She found it grounded her, centered her in the here and now, prevented her from letting her mind drift too far, to things that perhaps it wasn’t allowed to drift to. 

Nyx watched Dusa nervously shoot away from Cerberus, who was trying to tail the poor gorgon. She should probably intervene, but it did amuse her to a degree. Poor Dusa. Nyx folded her hands together primly, and thought about how she had tried to press her love down for Persephone, lower than Tartarus. She had tried to run from it, the way Dusa was trying to run from that old dog. But just as a flower will find its way and grow through the smallest crack in a tile, her love would always sneak out, manifest itself, and make it known to her. In the lilacs in her room, in the stories she told Zagreus of the Queen, in the way she would sometimes wander through the paths of the dead garden out back, once tended by the Pale Queen herself, or in eating the seeds of the pomegranate, Persephone’s favorite fruit, every night. 

The night does not hunger, but for life itself. 

Was the night allowed to have light in her life, Nyx wondered, or was it part of its destiny to never know such a thing? For there cannot be day where there is night, light where there is dark, life where there is death, growth where there is decay. 

Persephone was not in the hall today. Likely she was back on the surface, fulfilling some of her Olympian duties or appeasing the ice that called itself her mother. Zagreus was no doubt out on another run - he seemed happier than he had in awhile, perhaps due to her son, perhaps due to Persephone, or perhaps due to both. Hades was in the hall, stoic as ever, fulfilling his duties like nothing had changed. 

Perhaps that was unkind. 

Hades did behave as though things had changed. He was kinder, to his son, far kinder than he’d ever been. He was soft with Persephone, though he had always been soft with her. Nyx was too harsh on the man. It was Phthonos whispering in her ear, she knew. She thought she’d always been stronger than that, than the wiles of any one feeling but perhaps she was just as weak as the rest of them. 

Perhaps the night grows bitter as it wears on.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this please come yell at me about hades on my tumblr @eletriptan or my twitter @genderfaer


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